


The Forgetting Room

by Lothiriel84



Series: SOL: A Self-Banishment Ritual [1]
Category: The Bunker (Podcast)
Genre: Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Mental Health Issues, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: First we’d forget why there was fireThen forget why there was loveAnd I forget what’s next cause IForget what I was thinking of
Relationships: David Knight & David Price (The Bunker)
Series: SOL: A Self-Banishment Ritual [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704295
Kudos: 3





	The Forgetting Room

He used to have ambitions, once. He remembers that like one does with a dream, an uneasy, distorted memory quickly evaporating into nothingness.

David had to slap him out of a minor nervous breakdown, not two weeks ago. He thanked him, afterwards, even though it hurt like hell for days, and he hasn’t been able to shave since. He does now, and it only stings a little, the bruises faded enough not to catch his eye in the mirror as he moves on to shaving the stubble off the underside of his chin.

He can’t even remember what it was that triggered his little episode, the past two weeks an unfathomable expanse of swampy no man’s land where time got stuck and is now inexorably sinking to its oblivion. Nothing feels real anymore, not the sharp, stinging pain as the razor blade nips into the sensitive skin next to his earlobe, nor the sudden blooming of crimson as a largely perfunctory expletive slips off his tongue. _If nobody moves, nobody gets hurt_ , he hears himself think, idiotically, yet cannot bring himself to snap out of it; he presses the towel against the cut and waits, the sight of blood making him ever so slightly nauseous, but that too will pass, he reckons.

It’s the clatter of the decrepit tube of shaving cream being knocked into the sink that alerts David, or that’s what he will assume afterwards; for now, all he knows is that the room has inexplicably started spinning around its axis, which is odd, given how they all ran out of atomic bombs decades ago, and earthquakes aren’t at all common around these parts of the Wasteland.

“For Coke’s sake,” David grumbles irritably as he guides him to a sitting position, the coolness of the floor tiles offering a welcome diversion from the engulfing sense of apathetic estrangement. “I can’t leave you alone five minutes, can I?”

He lets David dab the last of the shaving cream off his face, clean his cut, and apply a plaster to it. “Wouldn’t have died of it, you know,” he mumbles, his tongue feeling strangely heavy inside his mouth. “More’s the pity.”

David pauses halfway into putting the first aid kid back in its proper place, glares down at him in that new, unsettling fashion that has proven particularly effective over the past few months. “Stop being an idiot, Dave, and get off that floor.”

“Hmm. It’s actually really nice down here. You should try it sometime.”

He hears David’s exasperated sigh, even as the man crouches again at his side, his fingers probing carefully at the back of his skull. “Did you bang your head against the sink, or something?”

“Don’t think so,” he shrugs, though he finds he doesn’t mind the small amount of physical contact he’s being granted for a change. “Does it matter?”

“You tell me. You’re the one talking nonsense.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Right. It’s off to bed with you,” David resolves, moving to help him off the floor. Dave doesn’t so much resist as he refuses to cooperate either way, his limbs feeling as if they didn’t fully belong to him, somehow.

He can hear David curse softly under his breath as he effectively hauls him off the floor, his head spinning uncontrollably now. “You’re not my mother,” he quips, or attempts to, as he all but slumps against David’s chest. “And I was doing fine on the floor, thank you very much.”

“Dave,” David sighs, as if he only just realised something. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

“Hmm? Had my coffee this morning. You were there, too.”

“Coffee isn’t food, you idiot.”

“Dunno? Last Thursday, I think? My head hurts.”

“Almighty Coke, give me strength.”

He’s not sure why he finds that hilarious, but he still does, even as he clings onto David’s arms for support. “Who are you, and what have you done with that bloke who used to work here?”

“Murdered him, I’m sure,” David huffs, and half drags him, half carries him towards the common room.


End file.
